


Imperfectly Astounding

by hattricks



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Lance (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Pining Lance (Voltron), klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 01:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12806178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hattricks/pseuds/hattricks
Summary: Lance wasn’t a poet, and yet he couldn’t stop the thoughts of how nothing he’d seen, in his world or a foreign one, could compare to that of his teammate and friend, Keith.





	Imperfectly Astounding

Poetry, as a way to describe one’s love for another person, is frustrating, Lance decides. He’s never truly been good at it — the symbolism needed to come off as deep and insightful was always very confusing. Why did things need to be complimentary to one another? Why did each poet feel the need to let every other person reading their work assume their own adaptation of the poem? If you were to ask Lance, he would have told you that poetry was overly complicated and far too vague for his tastes. 

That is, of course, until he found his own muse. 

True to fashion, Lance happened upon the realization that he’d been mentally creating his own poetry about a boy he found fascinating. In training, he’d compare the boy’s body to that of an autumn breeze with how fluidly he moved; In battle, he’d compare the boy’s calculated actions with that of time, always moving forward with purpose and never looking back; In domesticity, as the boy smiled around the dinner table with his friends, he realized that it did not matter how many stars he passed and suns he basked in on planets he didn’t know the name of, nothing would make him feel warmer than watching the boy in front him just _exist_. 

That thought alone had been terrifying enough. Lance wasn’t a poet, and yet he couldn’t stop the thoughts of how nothing he’d seen, in his world or a foreign one, could compare to that of his teammate and friend, Keith. 

Keith, who chewed too loudly. 

Keith, who got angry easily. 

Keith, who never did anything without purpose. 

Keith, who was imperfectly astounding. 

Watching Keith at any time of the day, doing any activity he desired, created a sort of loving dread in Lance’s chest. He was reluctant to admit that Keith’s actions wrapped themselves tightly around his heart and refused to let go, like a python in the rainforests back home. No, Lance didn’t want to admit that Keith had, unbeknownst to him, grabbed onto the single most important aspect of Lance’s very being with the strength of a thousand Yellow Lions and the ferocity of an infinite count of Red Lions. Instead, Lance placed him in his lungs, where Keith could become the reason Lance took a sharp breath when Keith hurt himself, or let out a deep sigh when Keith didn’t understand yet another pop culture reference, or when he held his breath altogether when Keith looked at Lance like he mattered. 

But this admiration, this pure and unadulterated reverence that Lance felt toward Keith was new. It was new, it was frightening, and it was overwhelming. Space is vast and endless, but in the confines of the Castle of Lions, Lance felt claustrophobic. He knew, in some way, that Keith had caught on to how Lance would get jittery around him, always bouncing a leg or tapping a finger or speaking too quickly. He also knew, in some way, that Keith wouldn’t ask him what his troubles were. That wasn’t due to lack of care, but Lance had picked up on the fact that Keith and comfort often didn’t correlate through words, but rather through actions.

And Lance had always been far more observant than he lets on, so he notices when Keith keeps closer during battle, watching his back more so than the others, and he notices Keith’s lingering gazes during practice, watching his every move. But Lance, understandably, can only comprehend half the story. He only sees what Keith allows him to see, and only understands each interaction from his own biased point of view. Regardless, it adds a newfound pressure to his heart when he looks over at his rival-turned-friend-turned-crush just in time to see said boy look away quickly. In a moment or two of insecurity and weakness, he wonders if perhaps Keith hovers him because he doubt’s his abilities, but then Lance shoots a few sentries with perfect accuracy and receives a quick, _“Nice shot!”_ from Keith, and those thoughts melt away. 

In truth, Lance doesn’t often understand much about Keith outside of what his own poetic mind fills in for him. Between the hair that flows over his broad shoulders evenly with it’s newfound length, the jacket that’s been forgotten since his recent growth spurt (which Lance is slightly anxious about, as he’d always been proud of those few inches he has on Keith), and the way Keith’s eyes always seem to find Lance, he’s not sure what to make of the boy. His smiles are few and far between, and Lance always finds himself smiling along with Keith when he knows he’s the cause of them. Keith is an enigma, and Lance can’t help but bask at the thought of Keith’s joy upon hearing of his own cryptic ways.

Before Lance gets a chance to voice his opinions, however, things change. On a beautiful planet, sky no brighter than Keith’s eyes and no warmer than his revered smile, Lance is injured. It’s not bad, a dislocated shoulder and some bruised ribs at most, and Allura assures him that a few hours in a pod will make him, “Good as snow, or however that saying goes,” but it’s obvious that not every paladin feels the same. 

Pidge chides him softly for tripping over an obvious hazard, Hunk asks if he’s doing all right upfront, and Shiro’s voice from his comms tells him a pod is ready for him when he gets back to the ship, but before he leaves, he hears a gruff and comforting voice tell him that there’s no way in _hell_ he’s flying back on his own, not with his arm like that, and suddenly Keith is back by his side. And although they aren’t touching, and although they’ve got a few layers of protective spandex and metal between them, Lance can feel the comforting and warm aura Keith holds around himself (and questions momentarily whether or not Keith knows he’s got this aura, but stores that thought away for a rainy day). There are protests, of course, but Keith reminds the team that the planet they’re on is uninhabited by intelligent lifeforms anyway, _Pidge,_ and what kind of Team Leader would he be if he let his best sniper fly into potentially dangerous space with an injured shooting arm, _Allura._

As he watches Keith fight for a way to travel with him, Lance sighs probably louder than he means to and can feel the fond look on his face, as well as Hunk’s eyes on him. He knows Keith is protective of his team, knows that Keith would suggest a flying partner for Pidge or Hunk or Allura, had any of them been injured, but also knows that Keith wouldn’t fight this hard for himself to be joining anyone else on the team, and that thought send electricity down Lance’s spine so strongly that he shivers slightly at the jolt. 

So they fly back together, in separate lions, Red admittedly doing most of the work for Lance. In the few minutes it takes to get back to the castle, he listens to Keith explain to Shiro what their plan of action is, and thinks of how Keith’s voice sounds like rain against a window, or a kettle boiling softly, or the pitter-patter of paws on a hardwood floor. He considers Keith’s voice a source of comfort, and momentarily forgets about the pain in his shoulder, head, and abdomen, though he’s reminded quite as soon as he tries to move his arm, and hisses in recoil. 

“Lance, you alright?” Keith’s voice asks, and Lance finds himself smiling.

“S’all good.” He replies, and Keith says nothing in return, which Lance is disappointed by. 

When they land, Lance walks out of Red feeling a little worse for wear. He pat’s Red’s paw twice in thanks, and slowly makes his way out of the hangar, where he sees Keith and Shiro talking some ways away. He takes the moments he has before he reaches them to appreciate their being there, not only in the moment but whenever he’s needed assistance in the past, and smiles once again through the pain. Then, Lance watches as Keith notices him and immediately runs up beside him, steadying him and offering advice on how to walk without irritating his ribs. 

“I’m fine,” Lance says, looking Keith in the eye. “Not my first rodeo,”

“Definitely not your last, either.” Keith jokes, and Lance chuckles, then groans in pain. They walk the rest of the way to the infirmary together in silence, though Lance wishes they hadn’t. 

When they arrive, true to Shiro’s words, the pod is up and ready to go. Keith watches as Lance sits and uses one hand to take his boots off, watches as he slowly takes the armour off his injured arm, and watches as he makes an attempt to take the armour off his good arm, but hisses. Keith just shakes his head and steps forward, unstrapping the metal for and sliding it down. Lance stares at him, blush slightly on his cheeks. 

“Arms up,” Keith mumbles, and Lance does his best to follow the instructions. Keith takes care to slowly undo the metal plate around his chest, and Lance takes note of how his eyebrows scrunch in concentration, and how his hair falls in his eyes, and how his tongue darts out, pulling his bottom lip in. Lance decides to look away then, up at the wall behind Keith. 

The armour is placed off to the side, and Keith tells Lance to sit again, so he does, and he watches as Keith once again gets to work on his armour, though this time for his legs. He works the calf armour off, then gestures for Lance to stand. 

“You can probably, uh,” Keith says, pointing to the remaining armour. Lance just smirks, a flirty joke on the tip of his tongue, but it never makes its way out. Instead, he looks at Keith again, who’s staring at the ground with red in his ears, embarrassment written all over him like it’s his only identifier. Lance’s smirk stays as he shakes his head lightly and works off the last of the armour before handing it to Keith to set aside.

The pod opens, waiting for him. Beckoning him to join it in a cold embrace that will leave him feeling tired and achy, but ultimately better. He’ll be scarred, most likely, but he doesn’t mind. At the same time, he’s drawn to Keith. Keith’s eyes are welcoming, his voice inviting, his face simply beautiful, and Lance has to decide how he wants to play it. He could play it safe, like he always does, and just step in the pod with a nod and a witty remark. Or, he could test the waters, blame it on his body’s shock response if things go horribly wrong, and have his answer. In a moment of weakness, he goes for the latter. 

Because he knows that Keith cares. He knows that Keith has some sort of favouritism toward him over the others. He knows he and Keith have come a long way from the teenage boys they once were, and he knows that no matter what, he has Keith’s back, and Keith has his. 

They’re Lance and Keith. 

Former rivals, current friends, possibly more. 

So Lance steps forward, just slightly, and gauges for a reaction. When he doesn’t get one, he moves forward again, close enough that his toes are touching Keith’s, their chests are grazing, and Lance could feel Keith’s breath if he tries. Keith doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, and (if Lance is certain) doesn’t breathe. His eyes dart across Keith’s face, taking in the beauty of his eyes, wise beyond their years, and the thickness of his eyebrows, and the scar that lays above his right one. He looks at Keith’s nose, and thinks of the way it would fit perfectly beside his. 

Lance realizes, then, that Keith hadn’t protested, hadn’t asked what the _hell_ Lance thought he was doing. He had, however, let out a short breath—a breath that bounced off Lance’s own mouth. Lance’s gaze dropped to his mouth, to the lips he’s wanted to kiss for as long as he can remember but never dared share with the other boy in fear of ruining what progress they’d made. They were finally a team, a damn good one, and Lance didn’t want to ruin that. And yet, seeing Keith as he was here, he didn’t really care. Keith takes a slight breath in, and says, “Lance,” 

And Lance has kissed people before. He’s kissed earth girls, alien girls, the works. He knows how someone says his name in a way that is a warning, a question, what have you. But the way Keith says his name was not either of those things. No, the way Keith says his name is what has Lance waking up every morning. It’s the reason he fights, the reason he eats, and the reason he’s stood less than an inch from his friend. It’s permission, and it’s what Lance had been hoping for. 

So he dips his head. It’s not a quick or long motion, but the distance between himself and Keith’s lips seems too far, always. 

At first, Keith doesn’t move, but neither does Lance. They stand there, for a moment, lips together and eyes closed, and Lance thinks that maybe he’d read it wrong. But then Keith’s hand comes up and cups his face, and their lips move together. Lance pushes closer, their bodies flush, and wraps his good hand around Keith waist, pulling him as close as he can. 

For years, he’d dreamed of this. After battles, with adrenaline high, he’s wanted to kiss Keith. In the mornings, when they’re both dazed and only half awake, he’s wanted to kiss Keith. Even when they were down each others throats, shouting and arguing and getting on everyone’s nerves, Lance wanted nothing more than to push Keith against the closest wall, capture his lips with his own, and kiss the everliving shit out of him. 

Kissing Keith was everything he thought it would be and more. It was watching fireworks on the Fourth of July on Varadero beach, eating ice cream after school in his backyard, flying Red at top speed and cheering like his life depended on it. It was every poetic thought he had, every comparison he could conjure up, and every rhyme he could think of. It was soft, but rough, and fast, but seemed to be in slow motion. 

Keith’s thumb rubbed against Lance’s cheekbone, and Lance could have sworn he was melting into a puddle, dissolving into the floor beneath him. Instead, he leaned in further, pushing against Keith, lightly deepening the kiss. He wanted as much of Keith as Keith would allow, for as long as Keith would allow him to have it. Lance never wanted to leave his spot on the floor. He was grounded, glued to the idea of this comfort lingering around forever. He knew it couldn’t, not realistically, but _god_ did he want it to. 

Keith’s hand found its way around the back of Lance’s head, playing with the hair that danced around his collar lightly, his other hand finding it’s way to Lance’s uninjured hip, gripping tightly. Lance thought, perhaps, Keith was grounding himself as well. It was bliss, pure and unadulterated bliss. 

But, as all things do, it came to an end far too soon for Lance’s liking. 

Keith’s hand travelled from the back of Lance’s neck to his collarbone, the one Lance happened to have injured. Without a second thought, Lance recoiled and groaned. 

“Shit,” Keith flew back like Lance was made of fire, though his hand didn’t lower. Instead, Keith stared at the shoulder with worry clear on his face, and though he was in pain, Lance smiled again. Keith’s gaze then travelled up to Lance’s eyes, his face softening and reddening slightly, bashfulness written all over. 

Lance shifted his weight and turned toward the pod slightly. 

“I should, uh,” he mumbled, nodding his head toward the blue cylinder. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Keith agreed, stepping forward to help Lance get situated. With Keith’s careful touch, Lance made his way in. 

“Hey,” he whispered. Keith looked up at him, craning his neck more at Lance’s extra height. “One more for the road?” 

Keith smirked then, stepping up on his tip toes, hands on either side of the pod for balance, and pressed a chaste kiss to Lance’s lips. Once again, warmth, comfort, and familiarity filled Lance’s senses in a way that was new and exciting. 

Keith wasn’t new, Lance realizes. Keith was his school rival, his competitive buddy, his leader, and his right hand man. Keith was there when others weren’t—maybe not with a strong speech to lift his spirits, but in a way that never had Lance feeling lonesome. Keith was comfort, excitement, and he was absolutely astounding. 

“See you later, Sharpshooter.” Was the last thing Lance heard before the pod door closed;

And as the cold of the pod surrounded his limbs and secured him in place, Lance thinks that he’s never quite felt so warm. 

**Author's Note:**

> Lance deserves better than the "loverboy" trope. I wanted to write something that gave Lance's feelings depth, as opposed to the lame flirting Dreamworks usually shoves down our throats. He's a smart boy, he's observant, and he knows what he wants. I was just sort of writing out ideas one evening and this started, and then when I wasn't sure where to go with it I talked to some friends and it sort of...found a way. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated. I love hearing from you guys! And you can find me on Tumblr here 


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